New Beginnings
by NaraNight
Summary: He assumed he was a forgotten nightmare to his angel as he picked through the remains of his lost kingdom. He was rebuilding, starting anew, only there on a whim that refused to leave. One faint noise across the lake he has investigate, leads him to something more broken than he. Maybe this time, they can save each other...
1. Chapter 1

In the shadows of the city of lights, a rat scurried along a damp brick wall in the dead of night turning into a drain with metal covering as water trickled out into the sewer below. In this desolate area a shadow ghosted over to the drainage. Its cover gave away on rusted hinges, swinging open with a low whine.

A memory flashed, an agonized cry came from a broken man as he pulled on the cursed barrier locking him out of his world and home. If time had eaten away this very blockade to his lost kingdom, he then must have been a forgotten nightmare to his angel…

He cringed at the thought. His music, his empire, everything… disappeared the night she vanished.

He couldn't shake this nostalgia of the past, even if he learned to put them from his mind. It worsened as he easily found his way through the maze of tunnels. Time was unimportant in this tomb. Damp stale air greeted him as he came into the main chamber connected to the underground lake.

Ah, the ransacked ruins of his empire. He picked his way through the broken pieces of glass, fallen mirrors, knocked down candle stands, and broken various objects. Nothing whole seemed to be left… even his piano was tip over and parts missing as if dismantled. Some of it was his fault. He smashed the mirrors in anguished that night before escaping down a hidden passage.

He came here in hopes to retrieve some keepsakes, but nothing was salvageable. He sighed in annoyance. The years he spent building this place were discarded in a night. He had to start from scratch again. His new creation was just beginning to take shape. However he did learn from all this and his brief lapse of insanity, he was quiet and humble now. He would not let himself get arrogant… or desperate like last time.

Picking through the living area, he came to his old sleeping quarters. It was untouched, the curtain was still down. He chuckled that people didn't dare touch this area. Lifting the sheer curtain, everything remained like he would return any night. On the nightstand lay a white mask. His hand reached out to pick it up, but slowly withdrew. No, he couldn't wear it lest he get caught despite being just a figment of the public's imagination. Even as an urban legend, he couldn't risk it.

A distant crash made him jerk in surprise as he held his breath.

Nothing moved in the silence. He dimmed his lamp to almost going out. Then there was a soft echo coming across the lake. Maybe he should leave, it could be a trap. Was it possible this place was still watched? The building was abandoned and boarded up. Still he dared not to go into it.

Against his better judgment, his eyes drifted to the boat that lay just down the steps waiting for him. "Damn," he whispered, bringing his lamp with him as he approached it. It wasn't the most sturdy, but it would do.

Slowly and silently he drifted to the sound. Again memories swept in taking away his focus, how many times had he traveled this route? The statues he passed would carry torches to light the way in this dark tunnel. As he got closer to the soft sound, a light's glow emitted from around a corner. As he rounded this corner in a cautious pace, he found the light's source was a lamp on the very bottom step leading up to the opera house next to...

It couldn't be…

_Christine_?!


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

Please if you have the time, a review with feedback and/or criticism would be appreciated.

-Nara

* * *

His heart froze.

That was impossible.

She gasped and went still when she saw the boat. He took in her wide eyes and mess of curls splayed wildly about her shoulders as he neared. She was not the angel from his precious memory. He patiently for this haunted apparition to fade away, yet she remained even as the boat came to the very steps she sat on.

Yes, this one looked much worse compare to the previous beautiful and glowing mirages. Her cheek bones were prominent in her almost gaunt face like a hungry street orphan. Her hands were dirty as the bottom of her cloak and rather simple dress.

He couldn't look away from those sullen bruised eyes.

He didn't expect the thing to speak.

"Erik…?"

The voice was so quiet, a child-like whisper with fragile hope.

He stilled not realizing he was already stepping out of the boat. There was a crunch underfoot. He lifted his boot, noticing the shattered glasses.

"You're real."

Neither was sure who said it, maybe both.

"What happened to you?" He asked unknowingly reaching out to touch her, she automatically flinched.

She ran a hand through her hair, mumbling, "They didn't really help."

"When did this start?"

She shrugged, moving her hair to flow over her shoulders and around her neck. "Things were blurry as a ballet dancer. I didn't notice. It just got worse after I left with him."

"You're foolish enough to venture down here in the dark when you can't see? What if you fell?"

"Are you already lecturing me, Angel of Music?" Her laugh was dry, aged. "Just like old times." Her head turned to look at the light, there was blossoming bruises on her throat. He automatically reached out to touch them. She recoiled as he moved her hair. They were the imprints of fingers. He growled, her head instantly bowed to look at the floor and to protect her already tender neck.

"I come down here often. I know every step, where the booby trap is, and the crumbling step behind me. I always wished for this. I'm afraid I have fallen asleep on the steps again waiting for you."

"Darling, this isn't a dream."

"Prove it."

With a second thought or word, he kissed her, capturing her lips, stealing the very breath from her lungs. Parting he stood up, pulling her with him. They couldn't stay here; he wouldn't let her go back. She looked at the boat, "No angel, were not going that way. That is a ruin."

"Then where?"

"My home," then he paused, remembering his mistake in the past of trying to force her into anything. She was not a naive child and he... was not so desperate and deranged anymore. "If you are willing come."

Her hand gently touched her throat, "I don't want to go back there."

With that they were gone moving quickly up the winding stairs. Christine boldly led the way through the tunnels, entering the old abandoned dormitory, and out a side door which she put a false barricade on.

Hand in hand they walked down the boulevard, down smaller streets as houses lost their grandeur to shanties or abandoned shacks to one house. It was once ruined from long disuse and inhabited with people living like rats. Now it was amidst repairs with several tenants. Erik went straight into this house as light poured out onto the wild grass from its windows. Christine shielded her eyes coming in, blinking at the ornate foyer.

"Erik," a woman greeted, in a lush velvet dress, with large curled hair clipped back to one side as it draped down her right shoulder. She glanced at Christine, scrunching her nose, "She's new."

Eric nodded to her, as his hand tightened around Christine's as they passed, "Morine." As they went up the stairs, Christine briefly looked back at the woman and up to Eric, as two more people greeted him. The middle floor was plain, with bare walls. The third floor hall, though small, was just as decorated foyer. On this floor there were only two doors that faced each other.

"Is this where you live?"

"Yes this is my flat."

"Who was that woman, Morine?"

"The landlord, she lives in that one." He tilted his head to the door opposite of them. Then unlocking the door, he beckoned her inside. This room was an echo of his underground chamber. Rugs covered the cold floor as tapestries and paintings covered the walls. His bed, though it was not his beloved giant swan, was a four corner poster canopy bed centered in middle of the room. Against the far wall was a large antique desk under the window for the best view of inspiration. Half of the back wall was a floor to ceiling bookshelf crammed the books and loose papers stuck in these or in protective covers. Next to the bookshelf across from the bed was his wide armoire upon which his masks lay. The bathroom was nestled in the back corner. A couch and chaise lounge formed a small sitting area near the door where Erik dumped his cloak unceremoniously onto the couch to swiftly light candles filling the room with a soft glow.

Christine stood silently gazing the blurred shapes, he watched her, her eyes lingered on the masks for a second before moving about to the desk, bed and him.

"It's lovely," she said, sitting down on the couch.

He smiled bowing his head slightly, "There is still much to be done. The kitchen was just recently finished. Some of the bedrooms still need to get fixed, if only their inhabitants would let workers into them..."

She smiled, "The opera ghost is talking about house repairs."

He stopped, then smiled, "Yes, I am. Quite different from the last time we met which was under than less than desirable circumstances."

Her eyes flickered over the simple black mask covering the right side of his face. "What has happened to you?"


	3. Chapter 3

Soooo Sorry for the long wait to update. I have work and school, so all my big homework assignments are due and I've been sick. This got put on the back burner. Plus editing a lemon is just embarrassing. So please enjoy!

Again reviews/critiques are always appreciated!

~Nara

* * *

"I could say the same to you Christine."

Her eyes cast down, as she swallowed, "One of us changed for the better. The difference in your voice… you're happy. The confidence and self assurance are back. They were gone from your voice when the house changed owners."

He slowly approached her, sitting on the couch beside her "When one has lost everything, fallen to the worst possible low, they can only rebuild themselves back up."

"How did you do it?"

"With help. And a lot of it," he said cupping her cheek, "And you... What has happened to my angel of music?"

Tears filled her eyes. The bruises marred her neck were visible in the candle light. "She fell. She can't fly anymore."

"Can you still sing?"

"Sometimes," she choked, gently holding her throat, "Not when he does this. When one can't sing... much less see, one doesn't belong on the stage."

"Christine..."

"That's all I was, a pretty new star. People are already forgetting my name. When they skipped over me for the lead role, he got so angry… I can't even be the understudy because I can't sing."

He threw his arm around her, trying to quell the murderous rage in his blood. "Erik... I'm sorry I failed you. All the years of teaching wasted."

He shook his head, "No darling. Nothing was ever wasted. You were my only light in the dark. Your voice was my only key to the music of the night. Even now you still are." He said kissing away her tears, her eyes lids, everywhere but her lips.

That was what she needed to hear, to be still be wanted, cherished. She grasped his face, fingers skimming over his mask, to entwine with his hair. She kissed him, breaking his slack mouth as his hand fluttered at her sides surprised.

"I missed you."

These simple words broke the last of his restraint. To hell with it, he lunged capturing her lips once more. In a whirl, they were entangled in each other, knocking into furniture as they staggered to the bed, tearing off clothes. His shirt was loose; her fingers tore on the fabric sending buttons flying. At once her hands were upon the newly revealed flesh, greedily feeling the toned muscle under smooth skin, ridding him of the fabric all together. He unknowingly groaned, pushing his hips into her. God he wanted her.

His lips attacked to her neck. A pained gasped escaped her as he bit and sucked the already tender column. He pulled back, reminded of the ugly bruises already marring her skin. As the lust in his eyes faded, she ground her hips against his, "Erase them. Erase everything of him. Please."

He did making new bruises over old.

Despite the pain, her head tilted back and hands in his hair. His lips traced down to her collar bone, down her sternum, then met the fabric of her dress. Annoyed, his hands ripped it apart and picked her up shedding it off her.

He stilled gazing at the traces of yellow faded bruises on her arms and thighs, eyes missing the swell of her breasts and hips. She pulled him down, clashing their mouths together. When he tried to pull away she growled and flipped them over. "You do it or I will. There is stopping," she said against his lips. She would be damned if he stopped now.

When there was a muffled protest, her hand snaked down grasping him, earning a startled groan.

"Do not think..." she whispered

Everything else was lost when her hand moved slowly up then down. He moaned again, his hips pushing upwards into her hand. God, he wanted out of these pants _now_. They were gone the next moment, he wasn't sure who did it, and didn't care. She was kissing him, moving sinfully against him, stroking him.

He couldn't think. His hands were at her sides, feeling her ribs and muscle move beneath the flesh. They held her soft breasts, her sharp hip bones, greedily slid up her legs and thighs... They were everywhere squeezing mounds of flesh in gluttony until he pulled her sharply down against him as he bucked. She moaned, her hands splayed out to balance her against the movement as he did it again.

His hand mimicked hers, reaching in between her thighs. His name fell from her lips in a needy demand. He resisted taking her then and there, fingers splayed out against her before delving into heat, taking his time. He would not hurt her despite the urgency of her hips and the painful hardness of himself. She rocked against him, whimpering in his ear, "Erik, please now."

When he continued to tease her, she had enough. She kissed him hard, lifted herself from his lap, removed his hand, and guided his length into her as she sank back again. They both cursed the heavens in pleasure as he sheathed inside her. His feet planted hard against the ground to keep balance on the edge on the bed and she on her tiptoes with her legs draped over his hips as she moved to lift herself once more.

He lost himself, one arm snaked around her waist and he threw the other over her shoulder. He thrust fast and hard, engulfed in her scent, touch and heat. He knew not what they said between the clash of lips, mantras of names, moans and ragged breaths. He knew not how erratic his thrusts became or the bleeding scratches that adorned his back. He only knew the tightening heat around him and the distant scream as the heat suddenly contracted.

Her whole body contracted as her head was thrown back and nails clawed across his shoulders, grasping desperately for some sanity before tipping over the edge of this painful pleasure she wanted to get away from but more off. The fire then roared through her muscles snaking through her very veins as she lost sense of everything in this burning flash.

Erik followed in the midst of hers, the coiling in his gut sprung loose. Pleasure flared throughout to his body to his fingers and toes. He emitted a shout as he released before sagging into her in his arms. His head was on her shoulder as he panted. She brushed the hair stuck to her forehead, as she gained back her breathe. Her head rested against his, her breathe in his ear.

Slowly she straightened up, smoothing back Erik's damp hair with both hands, tilting his head up. His eyes were partly closed and hazy as he looked up at her. She smiled, tenderly placing a kiss on his lips. When she moved, his grip tightened.

"Stay," he mumbled, this was where the dreams ended.. Already the murkiness of sleep was tugging at him.

"I will," she promised, gently disconnecting them, "But I want to get into the bed. It's cold." He nodded pulling back the covers, getting in alongside with her before pulling the covers over them as she tucked herself into his side. He extinguished the oil lamp on the nightstand and the candles would burn themselves out. He went to bury his face in her hair, but she was studying him and curiously reached up.

He caught her wrist, "No prying Pandora."

"You're going to sleep with it on?" She asked wanting to touch the simple black mask that had stayed in place during their lovemaking. He nodded, kissing her forehead, settling back down as she moved to lay her head on his chest and said no more. Within minutes, her breathing was even as she lay limp. He battled the same urge to do the same. Steadily losing, knowing what awaited him in the morning...

How sweet these dreams were.

He knew that loneliness of a cold empty bed would await him in the morning when he awoke in a cold sweat, aroused and heart aching. Morine would later yell at him for sulking in his room. But for now he didn't care. _She_ was here beside him, accepting and adoring. He gathered the dream in his arms, kissing her hair, whispering, "Please stay."


	4. Chapter 4

Eric awoke to a precise knock at his door. His head jerked, startled by the warm presence. She couldn't be knocking and by his side. The soft mound of brown curls in the corner of his vision moved. Eric pulled back as the brunette buried herself into the blanket.

She was there...

Memories of last night flashed as he stared at her nude body. Another part of him was picking up interest as well. There was another sharp knock, three taps on the door in quick succession.

Damn Morine!

He briskly got out of bed into the chilled air and cracked the door, "What?"

Morine stood in all her finery, even early in the morning. Her hair still gracefully draped over shoulder as she eyed him with the crack door. An eyebrow rose as her arms were crossed, making the delicate wrinkles around her dark eyes prominent. "What?" He hissed again. After another moment he opened the door fully revealing himself in all his glory.

She sighed, before quipping, "I didn't take you to be lecherous."

"Or you to be jealous."

She frowned, "Watch yourself, Mr. Souverain. I will not be looking in the sewers for you."

He rolled his eyes, "I will not..."

Her hand snatched his head bringing his ear down to her lips, "Erik do not be stupid. It's _that_ girl in your bed that Giry told us about. Do not let her cloud your mind, you have..."

He pulled back to shut her up with a quick kiss. "Yes Mrs. Souverain, I won't forget."

She gave him her look, as she stalked back to her own apartment. He was in for it. But with a glance back at Christine as he shut the door, he forgot.

Christine buried her head into the pillow as she snuggled into the covers. She was warm and comfortable, so gorgeously comfortable. This began to disturb her since her bed was not this soft... nor was the one at Giry's place. She sat up, looking at the blurred room, light spilled from a window to her left, onto a desk, and a great expansive dark wall.

Where on earth...?

She looked down at her bare chest, the marks of love upon her skin. Last night dawned on her.  
"Erik?!" She called scrambling to get up. The room was too quiet. She was alone. He couldn't leave her here. She fell pulling the sheets with her. Erik who was the couch reading, was soon at her side, knelt on one knee, with a hand on her arm.

"I'm here. What's wrong?" He asked looking into her frightened eyes that darted about the room and settled on him. Her hand reached out touching his face he instinctively leaned into it as he did often with Morine. But this was not... in a second he tried to pull away, cursing he was too comfortable with not wearing his mask. Christine only looked confused at him when he reached to cover his face. Her gaze remained unchanged as he pulled his hand away; the pupils had no reaction to the revealed sight. "Christine... even at this distance?"

She leaned forward making their noses touch. Here was where his face came into focus, "If I can or not, it doesn't matter..." With that she kissed his scarred cheek. For the second time in twenty four hours Erik wasn't sure if he was truly awake or not. He pulled Christine up and divested himself of the pants he wore. They fell back into the bed where they stayed for the rest of the afternoon.

Outside in the hall, Morine closed her door to glare at the one across from her as she slowly walked to the stairs. He had been holed up in that room all day. She paused steadily listening to muted banging against the wall followed by a deep groan.

She shook her head, going down the stairs, "Fool."

The sunset threw shadows about the room as Erik lit a few candles. He seemed at ease, smiling at the dozing one in the bed. Her stomach growled angrily back at him. Ah he did forget something today. He gently reached out as she looked at him under heavy lids, "Let's go eat." She gave a muffled agreement, searching for her clothes that appeared on the bed as Erik found them.

"Thank you," she said quickly dressing. She was unaware that he again was studying her bruises. Before he could ask if they hurt, she quickly stood up, ruffling her hair, "Shall we go?"

He nodded leading the way, her hand in his. He wanted to ask so many questions but they all died upon his lips. What could he say when this was someone he didn't know anymore?  
She didn't know what to say either. She didn't want to talk of the past or the present. She knew he questions from the concerned tone behind his casual words.

Erik had hoped they had missed dinner but entered into a bustling kitchen. Morine was shouting commands to a tall man who shouted back at her as he stood at the oven. "It's not my fault the boy was late with the pig!"

"Don't blame me old man! The butcher was trying to swindled money out of me!"

"Shut up you annoying rat! You're always late."

"Then don't make me go do errands across the goddamn town!" The teenage boy yelled back from across the kitchen preparing food.

"ENOUGH!" Both Erik and Morine shouted. The bickering two immediately stopped looking at them as they stood side by side. Christine was seated on a stool near the door.

"Jack do as you're told and have more pride in doing your chores since you refuse to attend your lessons. And John don't send him to the butcher three miles away if you don't want him late. There's one a half mile from here," Erik lectured.

"But that one has the good meat," John muttered back.

"No more sending him there. He'll go to the one nearby. He has to have time for his tutoring lessons," Morine said, eyeing Jack who crossed his arms and pouted.

"I'd rather get a dead pig from the crooked old man."

"No more from either of you," Erik said, "Jack set the table and get the others."

He rolled his eyes, then noticed Christine. "Hey who's she?"

Erik placed a hand on his back, pushing him out the door, "Just go!"

"I'm going. I'm going," he grumbled in the dining room glancing back at Christine.

Erik sighed, annoyed. He glimpsed back to see John and Morine looking at Christine who listened curiously. "Let's wait in the dining room," he said to Christine, taking her by the hand.

The dining room had a too large of a table with overstuffed chairs in it. They sat on the end with her on the corner. She recognized the table, its overly ornate legs ending in lion claws and sharp corners that the ballet girls had bumped into one too many times in the backrooms. Her hands ran over the edge smiling and disbelieving, "How did you get this?"

"It was abandoned... I merely had someone go fetch it and gave it new life," he said running a hand over it as a rumble of voices came down the hall. A group of four led by Jack burst into the room.

"Erik, you brought company? How rare!" A woman greeted, smiling at Christine.

"This is Christine," he introduced, "Christine, this Jack, Anna, Claude and Danielle."

She nodded smiling at the figures draped in green, blue, white and black, "Hello."

They greeted her and she smiled back unaware of the burns that danced across Danielle's hands and arm, Claude missing a hand, Anna's limp and Jack's burned arms and white eye with jagged scar that ran across it from his forehead to his cheek. They talked amiably as they went into the kitchen to retrieve the plates and food, setting the table with a feast. Christine's plate was full before she realized it and the room was loud with clattering plates and chatter. Erik remained next her, grabbing bowls to fill both their plates, yelling at Jack who was next to him for hogging the bread and bickering with Morine who was right next to Jack about the wine she choose.

Christine ate quietly, not quite believing the scene around her or that the man next to her was the she knew. She listened as Erik and Jack got into an argument, apparently it moved on from the bread hogging.

"You were not..."

"I was..."

"No way in hell you were ever an assassin!"

Christine paused looking up from her plate. Did she hear right?

"And the architect for the Shaw of Persia as well," Erik added.

Jack rolled his eyes. "You couldn't be that AND the Opera Phantom."

"Opera Ghost." Christine corrected, earning a shocked look from Jack, "And yes he was."

"Were you there?!"

"He was my tutor," she paused, eyes connecting with Erik's as Morine's narrowed.

Jack groaned, "Lies! See he's just an old man who loves his damn books and music!"

Erik groaned putting his head in his hand, "You call me 'old' one more time and I will hang you."

"Hah! Like you can tie a noose."

"Then I'll bludgeon you with your history book about the French revolution first thing in the morning!"

"Not if I'm not home!" Jack shouted, Christine looked at him worried. She wouldn't have dared to talk back when she was his age…

"Don't worry dear; Erik is truly all bark and no bite," Anne said to Christine, from across the table. Christine turned to her, as Erik growled at Jack. "The one who you should be worry about when they're angry is Morine here. Once a stonemason came here to fix the walls of what is now our living room. He gave Danielle here one wrong look and Morine slapped him so hard he had a mark like the rest of us for the entire time he was here!"

A mark like the rest of them?

Before Christine could ask, Erik let out an exasperated sigh, "Morine help me!"

"Nah, he's got a point..."

"What?" They both looked at her, even the others were now listening.

"Honestly you couldn't be all those things. Skills of an assassin, architect or composer take years to master. John here just barely mastered his cooking after twenty years. You've already proven to be a great scholar. So you couldn't be all those things, either you're lying or... you're old." She smiled sweetly as the room broke into laughter minus Christine.

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose, "You are not helping."

"I wasn't planning on it," she grinned as he glared, his lips even forming a pout.

Christine slowly lowered her for fork. They knew more about him than she did... and they weren't afraid of him. He argued vehemently with the boy and woman but with a secret smile and a false harsh tone. What made her heart sink the most was that he was not wearing a mask, something that was once _a part_ of him. She frowned, looking down, what had she hoped in following him? Did she want to find the mad lonely broken man that she didn't choose? She had no right to believe or even think he would be waiting for her.

He had found his place... and he was _happy_.

Erik turned midsentence to her when he noticed her head bow, "Christine?" He lifted her chin when she didn't look up at him.

Morine's chair screeched across the floorboards as she sharply stood up to answer the door that only she seemed to hear.

"I'm fine," Christine lied smiling and resisting the desire to lean into his touch.

The person at the door barged into the dining room like a storm. "THERE you are."

Christine knew Madame Giry's voice before she pulled her up from her seat, "Is this where you been all this time?! We thought you went missing!"

"Giry," Erik said standing up, "She's is welcome here and can stay if she wants." His eyes were on Christine who avoided his gaze, staring at the floor. Morine and Giry both shot angry him looks although Giry was more irritated.

"No she has a performance to practice for. The lead has laryngitis! And here you were hiding."

"What?" Christine said ignoring her glare. She had a role now?!

"Giry," Erik said his tone full of warning, his eyes motioned to the bruises on her neck.

"This doesn't concern you," she warned pulling Christine from the room and house without another word. Everyone silently stared at Erik who crossed his arms glaring at Morine who stood at the doorway glaring back.

In the carriage, Christine sharply to Giry, "You told me he was dead."


	5. Chapter 5

Hello again. Please enjoy and remember, reviews are always appreciated!

~Nara

* * *

Part 5

He started after them, but Morine blocked his path, "Let her go Erik."

"Do not stop me!"

"Let. Her. Go." Morine said firmly not budging.

He growled, grabbing her by the shoulders. How dare she?! That was Christine! _His_ angel of music! The one who could give a voice to the music only he could hear. The only who could give his music LIFE. Even now the faded memory of her unearthly singing haunted him.

"She is only poison to your mind. She is not the only thing Erik. Bring yourself back." She didn't want to hurt him, but his confused eyes showed she would have to break him and resurface the hurt from years ago. She shouldn't have ever let him gone to that damn theater. She grasped his face, "She ran away from you. She didn't pick you. She is not yours. She only used you because she was hurt. Remember where you are now and who you are with. Look at around you at Jack, John, Danielle, Anne and most importantly me. Look at _me_ Erik."

The anger fell away, despair and sadness flashing in them at her words, settling into acceptance. They watched her face, her lips, tracing down to the left shoulder where her hair fell away revealing deeply angry pink uneven scarred skin that raced down her back and arm to her hand. He leaned down, their lips meeting in a loving but consuming kiss. She meant more to him than he could possibly explain...

"Get a room!" Jack shouted across from the table.

Morine pulled away, telling him to shut up before looking back at Erik, "Now were you really so wrapped in by each other that neither of you noticed your rings?"

* * *

"You told me he was dead."

"Yes and you still found him."

"But why?!" Christine demanded, remembering the night she told her.

_She was at the steps, all her unopened letters still neatly placed in the alcove in the wall. Giry followed her down as she went to place another asking for him to come back. "He will not answer, nor ever will."_

_Christine looked at her so innocently, like a child about to hear news of her lost puppy. Her words crushed her, "He's dead. This place is only a tomb. There is no longer an angel of music."  
_

_Christine shook her head, "No. Please no! Giry why? How?!" She clung to her dress as she sank to her knees, her breath caught in her throat before weeping._

_"Child do I really have to explain why or how after that night? Was that tortured cry which echoed through the tunnels not enough?"  
_

_"No. I wanted to tell him..."_

_"You're sorry? You pick him instead?" Giry sighed, "It's too late for that. You made your choice."_

"You broke my heart that night." Christine said, "Why did you lie?"

"I'll be damned if you ruin that man again. He is a stranger to you. You made your choice. Erik did not become the man he is now by remembering you. He is where he belongs now. You are not to see him again."

"You can't stop me."

"I can and I will. I warned you the first time Raoul hit you the night before your wedding that I wouldn't protect you if you chose to go through with it. Morine will not allow it either. She brought him back from his madness and is rightfully at his side."

Christine only glared like a sulking child, "It didn't seem that way when I was with him."

"Enough of this. Your actions are unacceptable. You're still expected to be at practice even if you are not in the play."

"Is everything from you a lie?!"

"These lies affect more than you. They protect others."

"Then what lies did you tell Raoul? Does he think I'm in the dorms?" She glared at Giry's silence, "Where is he? Is he gambling or at the whore house?"

Giry shrugged, they hadn't heard from him and no one searched. Christine closed her eyes in irritation and shook her head cursing. "You should be happy he's even here after that accident on set. The doctor told you weren't going to get the original one back even if he survived."

Christine glared out the window, only on rare nights did she get her loving and gentle Raoul. She lived for those nights.

Sometime later the coach arrived to Giry's humble house several blocks from the opera house. It was a narrow two story with a garden in the front. Christine was greeted with the scent of flowers and Meg in the doorway. Giry nodded to Meg with Christine's wrist in her hand like she would run away. Christine obediently followed, smiling at Meg and keeping the conversations short but found out theater was worried about her. That did touch her; people noticed her absence but not her estranged husband. Not one word of him.

Christine soon after said her goodnight and went to the guest bedroom to sleep. She could say it was her room. Her stuff was here more often than not. It was very small, the bed and armoire already made it feel cramped not including the vanity, nightstand and hair stuffed into the corner. She put on a night gown and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Hearing footsteps in the air she quickly blew out the candle and rolled over to hide her face.

It was Meg's footsteps, the light unsure ones that paused at the door. Christine didn't want to talk about where she was or with who. She thumbed the ring on her finger. She couldn't get rid of the memory of the cold metal of his ring against her heated flesh when the back of his hand brushed her cheek. She allowed herself to delve into the daydream that the rings were the symbol of their own union. A glimpse of what their life could have been instead of the reality that they were both married and commuted adultery.

Her hand moved to touch the love marks upon her breasts. She wished they would stay but needed them to fade… before Raoul came back to find her.

She sighed and had to conclude that those twenty four hours were only a dream. Life would return to normal tomorrow.

But could she really continue like before knowing he was there? Was she good enough to leave him alone? Or just selfish enough to try to take him back?


	6. Chapter 6

In the predawn, footsteps and a cane woke her from her slumber. She turned on the hard bed, burying her face into the pillow to block the sound. Giry unceremoniously yanked the covers off and walked away only to repeat this to Meg who gave a shout of discontent. "Up the both of you! We have to go now."

Christine got up silently and reached for her glasses on the .bedside table and found nothing. She got out of bed. She must have dropped them on the floor last night. The memory of breaking glass in the underground flashed through her memory.

She cursed and got ready. She wouldn't need them. They didn't really help.

The walk to the Theater was silent as Meg was too tired to pay attention to anything and Christine was in no mood to speak, Giry would have sternly told them to be quiet and hurry up, anyway. They entered the quiet theater that was just waking. The director was already on stage with script in hand talking to the composer. He nodded to Giry then did a double take. "Christine!" He said approaching them. She was momentarily taken aback by the concern and hug, but then again he knew she couldn't see his relief. "I'm fine," she mumbled, as he pulled away.

"Where were you?"

"At a friends house," Giry said.

She nodded, "A friend I hadn't seen in a while invited me to stay the night."

He nodded seeing the bruises on her neck, but mistook the fresh ones to be marks of violence. But he couldn't say anything; Raoul's family supported the theater and essentially wrote his paycheck. "You can rest for the day. Your understudy just needs the fitting for her costume."

"I can still tutor her. Just let me 'keep' the role until Raoul calms down."

"Alright you can stay on the sidelines and coach her. You can find Sarah in the dressing room."

"Thank you," she said letting Meg guide her. Sarah smiled at her as she dressed. Martha, the makeup artist, greeted Christine and quickly understood her absence. With a smile, she filled her in on gossip as she did her makeup returning the rosiness to her cheeks, the youth back into her eyes and her skin back to its white flawlessness. She fixed her hair, returning the luster and purposely left a delicious fattening plate of sweets on the table that the ballet girls enviously stared at. Oh Martha, although a doll who she loved, couldn't fix this broken thing, no matter how many times she tried.

It was dusk when she returned home. She kindly refused staying at Giry's and the theater. She wanted her bed. The house was quiet and her nose scrunched at musky smell. The windows hadn't opened and a plate of spoiled dinner lay on the dinner table.

Her stomach growled despite the nausea when she cleared the plate. The kitchen was bare. She went to her hiding spot, the notch in the kitchen wall behind a painting for food money, Raoul was kind enough to take that for his gambling.

She groaned in annoyance as she would have to scour the house for the little bits she hid like a squirrel. Money was hidden behind, in, or underneath furniture, under floor boards, hidden in books, etc.

She got enough to rush quickly to the market and came home for the meal. She only got enough for herself, saving the bread for morning. She locked it in a cabinet. To fill the silence she began to sing. Singing as she gathered the liquor bottles stashed away in their hiding spots and poured them all down the drain. She sang as she cleaned, got ready for bed, and locked the front door. Then she pushed the armoire of fine china (Raoul was forbidden to sell lest his father kill him) in front of it so a drunk Raoul could sober up outside.

She went to bed, locking the bedroom door as well. As she went to sleep, Erik followed into the dreams. He never once left her mind that whole day.

The next morning, when she shut the door to go to work, Raoul was fast asleep on the outside bench. She snorted at the blurred sleeping figure, knowing the familiar stench of alcohol and continued on her way.

She went to work, Martha did usual miracle of covering the bruises. The day uneventful as she practiced with her understudy Sarah, training her to hit the high notes since her voice wasn't strong enough yet and broke under the strain.

The Director watched from the sidelines, shaking his head when he saw Raoul coming down through stairs of the auditorium. "Monsieur de Chagny!" He greeted loudly, "Christine is just practicing a solo where she's alone on stage in the center…"

Christine paused to try to listen as Anna finished her song. Raoul came over a moment later, "Christine."

"Hello husband. What were you talking to the Director about?"

"When you get paid next."

"Unbelievable! I don't until next week and no, I can't get it sooner." She was furious. He was insatiable. She only had enough to survive until the next paycheck, she hid money at home, in the theater and at Giry's. "It's not my job to support your habit."

"It's your duty as a wife to support me. That also means not locking the god damn door."

"The chill air helps with a hangover. So would food if you didn't lose the food money." She snapped, "We're suppose to support each other, not your low life gambling and drinking. When do you go work for your father?"

His face darkened, "Don't come home, we have no food for tomorrow." He stormed away.

She could feel Sarah slightly tremble behind her. "Do not mind him, now where were we…?"

She already knew she would going to Giry's that night. She wondered how Erik's spent his. Was he lost in music bent over a piano or writing at his desk? The image of him smiling, the sound of his laughter, the smell and touch of his flesh…

The Director called her name. She looked up confused, no she couldn't think of him now.

That night and following week she stayed at Giry's as the bruises fade away. Christine wanted to talk to her about Erik, but she would say nothing. "You are to focus on your life now and leave Erik be. When these fade, there will be no mention of him."

She went home at the end of the week, the house wasn't musty. She heard Raoul in his study, she went in and stood at the door. He greeted her with an annoyed grunt, never looking up from hi paper work. "You're sober, how rare."

"What choice do I have? Someone poured out all the drink and I have no money."

"How miserable life must be for you."

"It is stuck with a bore like you. Would you go out with me and my father to dinner? He is paying." She shook her head, she had work early in the morning. His hands flew up in the air, "See?! You always do that! We don't do anything exciting."

"Excuse me I have my job. The theater is my life," she snapped, going up to his desk.

"How can it be? You aren't even the star anymore. You're just some forgotten reject who can't see."

Before she knew it, she slapped him. "And what about you, you stupid drunk?! You, who use to be respectable and upstanding, now are nothing but a parasite!"

"Enough!" He shouted, slamming her against the wall and pinning her there with his body. "You use to love me. Where did that go?"

"You use to, too. I was your Little Lotte."

His lips crashed into hers, bruising and forceful. His hands pinned her wrists against the wall briefly before groping her flesh. She hated this and him. But these familiar lips and arms, who once belonged to a gentle lover, were still _his. _Just remembering was enough to make her kiss him back, searching for her Raoul somewhere in this stranger.

They crashed through the house to the bed. It was hard, quick and a fight for dominance. Even in this brutal pace that he only sought pleasure for himself, she still found her head thrown back, toes taunt, nails clawing at his back as she moaned. After it was over, both would turn their backs to the other not speaking for the rest of the night.

She would not admit how falling asleep in Erik's embrace was a new precious memory that left her in longing. She buried her face into the pillow to hide the tears.


End file.
